Back in 2010, a three-day layover in Cairo on an EgyptAir flight from London to Johannesburg felt like destiny calling. I’d always been mesmerized by ancient Egypt’s pharaohs, myths, and architecture. Stepping off the plane, however, the Egypt of my imagination vanished almost instantly.
In its place was a sprawling, brown city of intense heat, dilapidation, and overwhelming frenzy. From the moment I left the airport, I felt like a walking target. Every interaction, from a forced perfume-shop detour to navigating the aggressive markets, felt like a potential scam.
And then, there they were. The Pyramids of Giza. They are, undeniably, breathtaking. More massive, more majestic, more impossible than any picture could capture. Standing before them, I felt a genuine awe I will never forget. But the magic was short-lived.
Turning around, the view was dominated by fast-food joints directly across from the Sphinx. The air was thick not with ancient mystery, but with the shouts of hundreds of vendors and the exhaust of countless tour buses. Even the famous Nile River turned out to be a polluted dump, with a stench so foul that Baby Moses would rot in his little basket.
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